


show me no mercy

by starsaregoingout (abovetheruins)



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Blindfolds, Blood, F/M, Knifeplay, Manipulation, Oblivious Reader, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/starsaregoingout
Summary: There's a new photographer in town.





	1. up in flames

**Author's Note:**

> look, i love this stupid asshole, okay? and i just had to get this out.
> 
> occurs before the events of the game. not sure how long stefano was inside stem before everything went to shit but for the sake of this story it takes at least a little while before things start going south in union. reader is oblivious about stefano's less than savory past/intentions, and he's a manipulative little shit, so please proceed with caution if any of that unsettles you. 
> 
> i've got two more parts planned, so let me know what you think!

You stare at yourself in the dressing room mirror, an uncomfortable knot in your throat. The dress you'd been provided dips low at the neck and flares out just above your knees, providing teasing glimpses of your thigh each time you move. You'd been told this particular shade of red complimented your eyes.

"A perfect match," he had called it after draping the garment bag over your arm. "Now, off you go. We mustn't waste the light." He'd nudged you toward the dressing room with a hand at the small of your back, and you'd nearly stumbled, not daring to look back lest you see the amused expression on his handsome face. He always seemed to be amused by you. By everyone, really. Like he had never seen the likes of you and your sleepy little town.

Stefano was a strange man, of that you were certain. You supposed all artists were a little like that, though you'd never actually met one. Not a professional, anyway. Not until Stefano had arrived. The whole of Union had been abuzz with the news; it wasn't often that you met an unfamiliar face here. The bulk of your neighbors had been born and bred within the town, yourself included, so a new arrival - a famous photographer, at that - had created quite the stir.

You'd kept meaning to make your introductions, but you were busy with your bookshop and couldn't quite find the time to pay a visit to the Grand Theatre, where he had apparently settled in. Well, maybe _busy_ wasn't the right word. _Nervous_ , more like. You weren't... great, with new people. You spent most of your time in the shop, nestled behind the counter or in the back room with one of your books, and that was how your preferred it. Oh, you loved your neighbors, and would certainly consider most of them your friends, but you were better on your own. 

You hadn't expected the newest subject of the town's gossip mill to show up at your door. The jingle of the bell had distracted you from your newest book one afternoon, and you'd glanced up to see someone you hadn't recognized standing at the threshold. You had known immediately who he was; tall and lean with dark hair swept artfully over his brow, there was the artist you'd heard so much about. 

"Good afternoon!" you'd called, wincing at your own volume. It'd been a long time since you'd had to introduce yourself to a stranger, let alone welcome one into your shop. Usually your regulars were content enough with a nod and a smile before they went about their own way. 

The man's eyes had gleamed as he'd turned to you - well, the one not hidden by his hair, anyway. You'd been taken aback for a moment, something about the assessing glint of that one dark eye and the curl of his lips setting you on edge, but in the next moment his low, friendly greeting had chased the strange feeling away.

"Good afternoon. I hope I'm not intruding?" He'd waved a hand clad in red leather at your opened book, and you'd quickly shook your head.

"Oh, no. Not at all. Can I help you with anything?"

"Ah, I'm afraid I came in quite on a whim," he'd said, slowly approaching the front counter. "I was merely hoping to... familiarize myself with my new home."

"You're new to Union, then?" you'd asked, though you'd already known the answer. By the subtle curl of Stefano's lips, you'd gathered he'd known it, too. 

"Yes." He'd held out his hand, introducing himself with a lofty, "Stefano Valentini, at your service."

That close you had been able to see the whirl of scar tissue peeking out from behind his hair, and though you'd wondered vaguely what had happened to cause it, you'd jerked your gaze away from the puckered skin and stammered out your own name, slipping your hand into his. The leather of his glove had been smooth and warm against your skin. You'd floundered as he'd brought your hand to his lips and feathered a kiss to the top of your knuckles, blurting out, "I, uh, I've been meaning to see your gallery. At the theatre?" to cover up your reaction, though his pleased smile had flustered you even more.

"Is that so? I would love to show you around. Hear your opinion on my work." You had gotten that same strange feeling then, as though something were wrong, but you'd shaken it off with a mental shrug, agreeing to stop by the theatre later that night after you closed up shop.

The theatre had been deserted when you'd arrived, and though you'd felt nervous for some reason you couldn't name at the thought of being alone with Stefano, you'd been eager, too. Curious. You loved Union - it was your home, after all, but so much about it seemed... fixed. Unchanging. You were content with your life, but a little something new never hurt anybody, right? It was nice to have a break in the routine every once in a while.

You'd heard about his work, of course - bits and pieces picked up in town or from your customers. You'd heard that it was a little strange, a little morbid, certainly not to everyone's tastes, but none of that had prepared you for seeing it firsthand. 

"Well?" Stefano had asked you, after you'd spent several moments in a stupor, the photographer an expectant shadow at your back as you moved slowly around the area he'd set up as his gallery. "What do you think?"

You'd floundered for a moment, unsure. Blood and viscera seemed a prominent theme in much of his photographs, though there were just as many that were comprised of - what appeared to be - somewhat normal subjects, if startlingly beautiful woman in elegant clothes and sweeping backgrounds could be considered normal. Even these seemingly simply photos filled you with a strange sense of unease, however. Like something else lay hidden behind the women's dark-eyed stares. Something that called to you and repelled you in the same instant. 

"They're beautiful," you'd said eventually, surprised to find that you meant it. They were... different. Sinister, almost. But there was a certain beauty to them, too. You'd never seen anything like them.

Stefano had smiled at your words, looking so widely pleased that you were glad that you had finally shored up the courage to come to the theatre. "Thank you, truly. I am always... appreciative when someone sees the merit of my work. Though I confess that my inspiration has been lacking lately, despite such lovely new surroundings."

"Oh, I'm - I'm sorry? There are plenty of beautiful places around town that might inspire you, or on the outskirts, if nature is more your thing. Or, um." You'd taken another glance at the beautiful women in his photographs. "I'm sure there are plenty of women in town who'd love to model for you." 

Stefano had laughed then, low and amused. "Oh, yes. There have been a few offers, but so far I have yet to find my muse. Hmm." He had glanced at you, a quick head to toe assessment that had left you fighting the urge to fidget. "Tell me, have _you_ ever posed for a photograph?"

"Me? Oh, oh no. I don't really... do photos," you'd said, embarrassed to admit it. You'd never been fond of having your picture taken; you'd always felt too awkward, your smile weirdly fixed on your face. You would rather just avoid them.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Stefano had assured you, his hand curling around your shoulder. "Not with the right person behind the lens."

And so here you were, despite your reservations. It had been hard to say no to Stefano's gentle coaxing, and his repeated assurances that you would enjoy the session and the result had finally worn you down, enough to at least give it a try. You didn't know what he expected to get out it, though. You were hardly a sight for sore eyes, and certainly no model. You expected that whatever photos he did take would be nothing but variations of the same awkward smile and hunched posture. 

"Glorious," Stefano praises as you finally take a step outside of the dressing room. You flush beneath his stare, feeling strangely vulnerable in nothing but the dress. You'd left your shoes in the dressing room, and your bare toes curl against the cold floor. "Come, come. This way." His hand settles once again at the small of your back as he guides you to the corner of the room, where he's set up a white chaise lounge amid a background of softly draped dark sheets. They spill down the walls and over the floor like black water; you nearly expect your feet to sink into the waves as you cross over them. "Just sit here. Yes, yes, just like that. Please, get comfortable."

You settle stiffly on the lounge, smoothing the dress over your knees as you watch Stefano reach for the sleek, expensive-looking camera sitting on a stool nearby. While he readies his equipment you peer around the room, curious. The thick curtains have been pushed aside from the large windows, and warm afternoon light spills onto the floor, the lounge, and the sheets draped all around you, setting them all alight. 

It sets Stefano alight, too, and you shift restlessly on the lounge as he approaches you, the dark strands of his hair intermingled with threads of gold as he passes through the shafts of light pouring through the windows. 

"Are you ready to begin?" he asks, bringing the camera to his eye. His hidden eye. Faintly you assume that the scarring must not be as bad as you'd first thought, if he's still able to see out of it. 

You nod jerkily, forcing your body to relax against the plush lounge. You try to smile, to emulate the dark-eyed beauties that had occupied Stefano's photographs, but all you feel is stiff and awkward, embarrassed at your utter lack of grace. 

Your discomfort must clearly show on your face; after a few shutter clicks Stefano lowers the camera from his eye, tapping his finger against his chin as he regards you.

You flush beneath his stare. "I'm sorry," you start, swallowing against the bitterness welling up inside you. You knew this wouldn't work. "I know I'm not any good at this - "

"Nonsense," Stefano interrupts, waving away your apologies with a charming smile. "It is not unusual for even seasoned models to be a little nervous during a shoot." He studies you, humming curiously as he seems to come to some conclusion. "If I may make a suggestion?"

You nod. You'll try anything if it will help to ease your nerves. Stefano deposits his camera back onto the stool and retreats from the room, returning in a few moments with a strip of dark cloth twined between his fingers.

"This may seem a bit unorthodox," he murmurs. You swallow as he approaches you, his sleek, polished loafers coming to a stop inches from your bare toes. "But perhaps this will help you relax." 

You can feel your cheeks heating. "You want to... blindfold me?" you ask.

Stefano tilts his head. "It may ease your anxiety," he explains, "if you are no longer quite so... aware of the camera lens."

You hesitate. Your stomach twists at the thought of losing your sight, though it's not a wholly unpleasant feeling. "If... if you think it will help," you say eventually.

Again, Stefano's dark eye gleams as he looks at you, that same amused, assessing glance that had taken you aback when he'd first stepped into your shop. It's there and then gone again in a matter of seconds, however, leaving only a pleasant, friendly smile in its wake. "I do. If you'll allow me?" He leans down, the toes of his shoes brushing against your bare toes, and you suck in a breath as he circles your eyes with the blindfold. The fabric is soft and silky against your skin, black as pitch and impossible to see through. You sit perfectly still as Stefano twists the length into a snug knot at the back of your head, his gloved fingers brushing against your hair as he pulls back. You shiver.

"There." His voice is deep and terribly close. "How do you feel?"

You wet your lips, considering. You feel... quiet, somehow. The nervous static in your head recedes bit by bit in the wake of so much darkness. Your anxiety is still there, but muted, somehow, now that you can no longer see the glint of the camera lens pointed at you like some all seeing eye. "Strange," you finally settle on. "But, not bad? It... I think it helps."

Stefano's voice is smooth and warm. Satisfied. "Excellent." There's the sound of shifting, the absence of warmth as he moves away from you. "Now, let's try again, shall we?"


	2. if you're gonna make it hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't see Stefano for a few days after your session

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> home sick today, so you guys get this a little earlier than i had planned! 
> 
> stefano continues to be a manipulative little shit and reader is in way over her head. proceed with caution!

You don't see Stefano for a few days after your session. You assume it's because the whole thing wound up being a bust after all, despite your eventual ease after he had blindfolded you. You hadn't seen the photos; you hadn't asked to and Stefano hadn't offered to show you, so it's not as if you can be sure. Still, you doubt they came out the way he'd wanted them to. After all, though it had been easier to handle the click of the lens when you couldn't see it, you were still light-years away from the kind of subject he must be used to.

You sigh as you shift on your chair, turning a page in your book with a flick of your fingers. Outside the sky slowly shifts from late afternoon crimson to dark violet dusk, and you glance up at the door, frowning as it remains empty. 

It's ridiculous to feel so disappointed. You shouldn't want to go through it all again, anyway; even with the blindfold, you still hadn't felt entirely comfortable, after all. If anything your nervous energy had grown worse during the rest of the session. You'd been terribly aware of your body in ways that you hadn't expected. With the blindfold on your focus had drifted inward rather than outward, and you had been bombarded with several sensations all at once: the quickening of your pulse each time the click of the camera shutter drew closer, the prickle of goosebumps along your arms whenever Stefano hummed in concentration, the warmth of your skin when you shifted on the chaise lounge and the hem of your dress climbed up your thighs. You had barely been able to look at Stefano afterwards - he had untied the cloth himself, his pleasantly curved lips the first thing you saw after you opened your eyes.

"Did I... did I do okay?" you'd asked, your heart climbing into your throat. It had been strange, having him so close after what felt like hours of no contact at all. Just you in the dark, listening as he circled you. His sudden warmth and the low timbre of his voice directly before you had made your skin erupt in a cold sweat, though your chest had been on fire. 

"You did wonderfully, my dear," he'd told you, in that quietly pleased way of his. You had escaped into the dressing room as soon as you were able just to recover from your reaction to him.

You sigh again, rubbing your hands over your face. What a mess you've gotten yourself into.

"Such a long face for such a peaceful night," you hear from the doorway; you jerk your head up to see the object of your thoughts perched in the entryway, one gloved hand wrapped around the door handle as he lets himself in. You'd never even heard the bell ring. "Are you well, my dear?"

You swallow, an embarrassed flush coming to your cheeks. "O-oh, yes, I'm fine," you say, closing your book and smoothing down the spine with nervous fingers. You weren't prepared to see him, and flounder for how to proceed. You hesitate, but eventually ask, "Is there... ? Was there something you needed?"

"Ah, yes, actually." Stefano approaches you, the heels of his loafers tapping softly against the wooden floorboards. "Our session the other night was... enlightening. I was hoping you would indulge me with another."

You suppress your first response - a blurted, disbelieving _Why_ \- but it's a near thing. "I... Are you sure? I didn't think you'd want to again, after, uh." You trail off, unsure how you can explain yourself. 

Apparently you don't need to. Stefano's brows lift in realization. "Ah, I must apologize. I have been... distracted, of late. I tend to become this way whenever I am deep into a new project."

Your own brows lift in response. "And I'm the - the new project?" you ask, surprised. Surprised and strangely pleased, though you fervently ignore that part.

Stefano smiles, amused. "Of course, my dear. After our first session, I find myself quite eager to work again. To create. For that, I must thank you."

You shake your head, red-faced. "You really don't have to do that. I'm... I'm glad I was able to help. Really."

Stefano tilts his head, pressing his palms to the counter. Your eyes flicker to his red leather gloves, unable to stop yourself from recalling how they'd felt when he'd tied the blindfold around your eyes. "Well, what do you say? Will you come to my studio again?"

You know you should say no. You're getting too entangled in this strange fascination you have for the man; some distance would be wise. Still, you can't resist his gentle, coaxing smile, the bright gleam of his lone eye urging you to say yes. To please him. "I... Sure. Yes. I'll come."

His smile broadens, deepens. The pale moonlight beginning to drift through the windows casts his face in shadows, twists his smile into a smirk. You shiver.

"Excellent," he says, and offers you his hand.

The streets are nearly deserted. You walk by Stefano's side, enjoying the cool night air drifting over your cheeks and through your hair. It helps to calm your racing thoughts, bring some semblance of calm to your nervous heart. At least until Stefano presses a companionable palm to your back, his hand a warm weight through your sweater. 

"I believe your first photos were... missing something," he says, "and after giving it some thought, I've come up with a few... accouterments I'd like to add. If you're amenable to them, of course."

"Of course," you answer faintly, still a little preoccupied by the warm weight of his palm against your spine. You recall the work displayed in his gallery and feel a twist of unease in your stomach at the memory of his more morbid photos, though you shake off the feeling by assuring yourself that Stefano had been nothing but professional in your first session. He seemed more intent on securing your comfort than forcing you to do anything you didn't want to. Surely this session would be no different.

You're given the same dress to slip on, and though you still feel a little ridiculous in it, you don't feel the need to hide away in the dressing room like you had during your first session. The sight of the same dark cloth draped over the stool alongside Stefano's camera makes your breath catch, but it isn't fear or unease that makes your fingers tremble as you approach the photographer.

"First," he murmurs, holding out a slim, dark box. You open the lid at his silent urging, your eyes widening at the contents - a silver necklace inlaid with delicate diamondwork along the chain and a large, jade pendant hanging in the center. 

"You want me to wear this?" you ask nervously. "I don't want to break it - "

"There is no need to worry, my dear," he interrupts, lifting the necklace from its case and curling his finger at you, gesturing for you to turn around. You do so with your heart in your throat, a prickle of heat sparking to life in the pit of your belly as Stefano eases the necklace around your throat. The pendant dangles just above the valley of your breasts, cool against the warmth of your skin, and you shiver as Stefano's fingers brush over the nape of your neck as he clasps it closed. He curls his fingers around your shoulder and turns you back around, a satisfied curl to his lips as he takes you in. "Simply exquisite," he breathes, and reaches for the blindfold. 

You bite your lip as he slips the cloth over your eyes, its warm, familiar weight filling you with sense memories of the your first session - the total darkness, the awareness of your own breathing, your racing heart. You feel it all again, though it's deeper now, sharper. Your brain fills with static as Stefano guides you to the chaise lounge, urges you to sit, though he doesn't stop there.

You gasp in surprise as he pushes you down against the cushions, your shoulders pressed to the plush material, legs akimbo. You flush at the position, the flutter of your hem around your upper thighs, and reach down to nervously smooth your dress down. 

"Ah, ah," Stefano murmurs, gloved palms warm against your hips as he replaces your hands with his own. "Allow me, my dear. Just relax. Sink into the darkness. Tell me, how do you feel?"

You swallow convulsively at the soft, faint brush of Stefano's hands along your thighs, your tongue flicking out to wet your lips. "I - I feel... Warm." You clench your eyes shut at your own words, unnecessary as the action might be. You can't think with his hands on you. 

His low, hoarse chuckle makes your heart twist. You belly fills with heat. "Yes? And what else?"

You grasp for sense, for thought, but it's useless. You're groping in the dark for a handhold that just isn't there. "Nervous."

"Oh? Because of me?" You gasp as his palms wrap around your thighs, spreading them. Just a bit, just enough to tease the warm space between your legs with a brush of cool air. Your heart races.

"I... I don't... " you stammer, mouth dry as you attempt to make sense of what's happening. What Stefano is trying to accomplish. "I don't know."

"You don't? Hmm." Stefano makes a low, wondering sound; within the next heartbeat his warmth disappears from your body, and you sag against the lounge as you listen to the soft taps of his shoes. He's walking away.

You struggle to catch your breath. Your legs twitch - you want to press your knees together, cover yourself, but something stalls your movements, makes you hesitate. You're cold, shivering. You want Stefano to return, to press his hands to your skin again. What is _wrong_ with you?

You jump as soft, classical music begins to play. You're not sure if it's meant to sooth you; maybe it would, if you couldn't still feel the warmth of gloved fingers on your thighs. Stefano's footsteps return, soft and measured, and your fingers grasp for the sides of the lounge as he reaches you once more. 

You can hear his breath, hear the shifting of fabric as he moves. You wait for his voice to break the silence, but instead it's your own, in the form of a sharp gasp as his knee settles between your legs.

The click of the camera shutter fills your ears. You turn your face away, your cheeks hot, your chest hot, your belly - all of you. You can't catch your breath. He's too close.

But you don't want him to move. You don't want the cold to come rushing back in. 

You can't help but shift against the lounge, restless and wanting. Your hem drifts higher along your thighs, baring more of your skin, but you barely notice. You can't lay still, can't stop moving. Your fingers clench and unclench against the lounge cushions. All the while, you hear the camera shutter, quick and relentless, taking in every inch of you, every angle. You feel devoured beneath its rapidly blinking gaze. 

"What a sight," Stefano murmurs, his voice nearly lost beneath the persistent shutter-click. "Truly a marvel. Just look at you."

You whimper at his words, overwhelmed. Your mouth falls open on a wet, broken gasp. The darkness before your eyes is all-consuming. All you can hear, all you can _feel_ , is him. His warmth above you, his voice in your ears, his knee between your thighs. Your world has shrunk down to the size of a pin. 

"But something is _missing_ ," he continues, and suddenly the warmth in your chest and belly is an _inferno_ , a heated rush of blood through your veins as a soft, dry mouth presses against yours. 

Your body slumps against the lounge, eyes wide and blind behind the dark cloth wrapped around your head. A low, rasping whine builds in your throat as Stefano's lips move against yours, your mouth falling open to welcome him in. Pure instinct drives your movements, your head stuffed full of cotton and your mind blank of all thought. The sharp bite of Stefano's teeth around your lower lip makes you flinch, but soon you're lost to sensation once again, heat and wetness and the slick curl of a tongue against yours. 

You let out a ragged exhale as he pulls away, his thumb replacing the warmth of his mouth, spreading wetness across your lips and over your chin.

" _There_ ," he rasps, voice hoarse and rumbling down the length of your spine. The rapid shutter-click begins again, nearly frantic now. "There it is. Exquisite."

The rest of the session passes in a blur. Between the music and the haze you've fallen into, you can discern no true passage of time. You're barely even aware of yourself beyond the twitch of your fingers and the smear of damp across your mouth. It isn't until Stefano moves away from you, cold air rushing in to cool your overheated skin, that your head finally begins to clear.

He rubs his thumb along the swollen bow of your lip before he lifts the blindfold from your eyes, and though you nearly quail beneath his gaze, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of so much light and color after so long in the darkness, his voice soothes you. "You did wonderfully, my dear. Truly your best work yet." 

You slip out of the dress and into your clothes in a daze, not thinking, not feeling much at all. Stefano sees you to the door as he had the night of your first session, though this time he doesn't bother to send you away with a charming smile and a fond farewell,. Instead he draws you close and drops a soft, dry kiss to your brow. It's a chaste touch, especially when compared to your contact on the lounge, but still your breath hitches, and you feel his smile curl against your skin.

You lick your lips as you walk away, the quiet peace of another night in Union surrounding you, and your mouth tastes like iron.


	3. blood in the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You tell yourself that you're done. Finished. You won't return to the theatre. You won't agree to have more photos taken. You need to keep your distance from Stefano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter fought me, but i'm finally satisfied with how it came out. take heed of the added tags!

You tell yourself that you're done. Finished. You won't return to the theatre. You won't agree to have more photos taken. You need to keep your distance from Stefano.

You had lain in bed for hours after your last session, your chest flushing icy cold and then scalding hot in such rapid succession that you had felt sick with it. The warmth between your legs had grown into a throbbing ache as you relived each moment - the slide of leather against your thighs, the soft rasp of thin lips against your own, the low thrum of Stefano's voice coaxing you to follow his whims. You'd stared into the darkness of your bedroom, gripping your pillow between bloodless fingers, afraid that if you gave in to your body's demands there would be no turning back.

What _was_ it about that man? You felt overwhelmed by him, intoxicated. Uncontrolled. You barely knew him, and yet you'd spent hours sprawled beneath him, legs spread and heart pounding. He'd taken _pictures_ of you like that, and you'd allowed it without a second thought.

You swallow roughly. What if... what if he displays them in his gallery? Was that his plan? Or did he intend to keep them for himself, just for his eyes? You don't know which option flusters you more.

You kick at a loose pebble that someone must have tracked up onto the gazebo, watching it skitter across the wood and off to the grass below. The sun is setting beyond the trees, and you watch it's descent with growing trepidation. You've taken to closing down the shop early and taking long walks around Union for the past few days, giving the Grand Theatre a wide berth in the hopes that you could avoid running into Stefano. You can't dodge him forever, but you're not ready to see him yet. You hadn't had the presence of mind to even speak to him after your session, let alone to ask what the hell had happened between you on that lounge. You're afraid of what you might say, what you might _do_ , if you see him now, when your thoughts are such a tangled mess.

What _is_ it that you even want?

You can't deny your attraction to the man, can't deny your body's reaction to his touch. How long had the ache between your legs kept you awake the night he'd kissed you? How often had you thought about it since?

But you were afraid. Afraid of _him_. You couldn't pinpoint why, couldn't even put it into words, but there was something about him, something that raised your hackles and set your teeth on edge. It wasn't constant, wasn't something you couldn't shake off - despite the turn your last session had taken, Stefano had never made you do something you didn't want to do, after all. He'd never hurt you. He'd surprised you, confused you, flustered you, but that was no reason for you to fear him. 

Right?

You sigh gustily, crossing your arms over the railing. You see a few of your neighbors walking along the sidewalks, coming out of the storefronts; you wave when they notice you, but otherwise remain still and silent, your brows drawn together in frustrated contemplation.

You're almost not even surprised by the faint rustle of footsteps behind you - soft on the grass, firmer once they reach the gazebo. 

"Always so serious," Stefano's voice reaches you, low and smooth as always. Despite yourself, a faint shiver traces its way down your spine. "What is it that troubles you so, I wonder?"

You brace yourself, your fingers curling tighter around the railing as you peer over your shoulder. Stefano's leaning against the entrance to the gazebo, his lone eye trained curiously on you. His lips are curled into a small, secretive smile. You flush darkly and turn away, remembering how they'd felt against yours.

"I'm not troubled," you lie, the back of your neck prickling beneath the weight of his gaze. "Just wanted to enjoy the sunset, that's all."

"Ah. Alone, I take it?" His voice doesn't change; there's no indication that he's taken aback by your apparent dismissal. You wonder if he's ever affected by anything, and then flush when you remember his hoarse voice as he called you _exquisite_. "My apologies. I shall leave you to it."

You should let him walk away. You _should_ , and yet you find yourself turning anyway, calling after him, "No! No, it's okay. I wouldn't mind company."

The satisfied flicker of his smile doesn't escape your notice. Somehow, you feel as though you've fallen into a trap. The feeling lasts as long as it takes for Stefano to breach the distance between you. The warmth of his palm curling around your shoulder erases it completely. 

"It is a marvelous view," he murmurs, though his gaze doesn't falter from your own. Your skin heats beneath his attention, and your eyes dart away, his soft laughter quickly following. "Do I truly make you so nervous?"

Your lips twist, memories of your last session flashing through your mind. He had asked you the same question then, though you hadn't been able to answer. That isn't the case now. "Yes," you murmur, your arms breaking out in goosebumps as his hand drifts over your shoulder, skating along the dip of your collarbone and back again. 

"Would you find it distasteful?" he asks, tugging you closer against his side until his warmth sinks into you from shoulder to hip. "If I confess to enjoying it?"

"You... you enjoy making me nervous?" you ask, surprised enough to risk catching his gaze once more. 

Stefano tilts his head in acknowledgement, a rueful smile on his lips. "Quite so." His fingers drift along the arch of your neck, the leather of his glove warm and supple against your skin. You suppress a shiver at the caress, and Stefano's eye darkens. "Your response to my touch... intrigues me. Our last session was truly... inspiring, in that regard."

Your throat runs dry. You hadn't expected him to bring it up, especially not here, out in the open. It felt like a subject better kept to dark, private spaces, though your mind shies skittishly away from such a thought. "I... I didn't mean to - " To what? Act like that? Let him kiss you? Kiss him back? What the hell are you trying to say?

"You made quite the picture, my dear," Stefano continues, as if you've said nothing at all. "So uninhibited. Unrestrained." His fingers trail over your cheek. "What art we could make, you and I."

His words are like honey, dripping smooth as silk into your ear. Muddling your thoughts. Muddling your _sense_.

"You... want to keep going?" you ask, unsure whether to be repelled or entranced by the idea. This was what you were hoping to avoid, this trap of confusion and longing you keep falling into around this man.

"Of course," Stefano returns, reaching for your hand. You hold your breath as he raises it to his mouth, his lips brushing teasingly against your knuckles. "Indulge me?"

You should say no. You should walk away. Let Stefano find someone else to serve as his muse. 

But you don't. 

You say yes.

And as you follow him to the Grand Theatre, your eyes caught on the play of muscle as his shoulders move beneath his suit jacket, you find yourself thinking - a vague, half-formed thing, easily acknowledged and just as easily dismissed - that there was never any hope of escape. You'd been trapped the moment he walked into your shop, as easily as a rabbit in a snare.

And yet it isn't fear that floods your veins as the theatre doors creak shut behind you. It isn't fear that makes your fingers tremble. No, it isn't fear, and that scares you most of all.

The journey is familiar: into Stefano's studio, out of your clothes, slipping into red silk and bare feet like you're following the steps to a choreographed dance. Low classical music welcomes you as you exit the dressing room You bare your neck for his fingers to slide the silver chain around your throat, the jade pendant settling between the dip of your breasts, and wait in breathless anticipation for the soft, dark silk to glide over your eyes.

As Stefano approaches with the blindfold, however, you notice something - something missing, and something new. Gone is the stool on which Stefano's camera had rested, waiting, before both of your sessions. Instead, it sits within the cradle of a sleek tripod, pointed toward the chaise lounge. An eye unblinking. 

You falter at the sight of it. Catching your gaze, Stefano's lips curl in a smile. "You responded so beautifully beneath my hands during our last session, I wished to join you again. Unless you object?"

Your mouth works around words that won't come. You shake your head in answer, and your pulse thunders as Stefano beckons you forward. "Are you ready, my dear?" he asks, dark cloth twined around his fingers. You tilt your head in willing supplication, waiting for the inevitable darkness to shroud your vision. Every muscle exhales in quiet relief as color and light disappear, replaced with a deep, cloying black. You're at peace for one blissful moment -

Until warm leather slips along the back of your throat. Your heartbeat accelerates as Stefano guides you to the lounge, and you sink onto its plush surface with a ragged whimper. Stefano's soft laughter follows you down, his breath warm against the line of your throat, and as he settles over you, his knee slipping between your thighs, you hear the familiar shutter-click of the camera. 

You wait, your fingers shifting restlessly against the plush cushion as Stefano breathes above you. Breathes, and does little else. What is he waiting for?

"This piece is to be a collaboration, my dear," he murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. You suck in a breath as gloved fingertips slip over your side. "A shared vision. You must show me the art you wish to create."

Your brows furrow, cheeks heating as his knee settles more firmly between your thighs, yet he moves no further. Your mind buzzes with a hundred different scenarios, memories of your last session and the thoughts that had haunted you afterward filling your head with images that make your heart pound. You're not used to this, to Stefano ceding control to you. Until now your actions have been dictated by his whims - you could excuse your reactions when it was Stefano's hands guiding you, moving you as he pleased. But now... 

Your body flushes hot as you reach out, feeling along the crisp lines of Stefano's suit jacket. You hesitate as your fingers tangle in his scarf, distracted by the sensation of his chest beneath your palms. You realize that this is the first time you've really touched him, and though you hadn't known what to expect, somehow you're still surprised by his warmth, the firmness of his chest under your fingertips. How _human_ he feels. 

The camera goes off again as you unwind the scarf from his neck. You barely register it now, the click-whir of the shutter already a familiar fixture in your mind. You're far more concerned with the newly bared skin beneath your hands, the flutter of Stefano's pulse as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him toward you.

You would be embarrassed by the eager arch of your body if you could think of anything beyond the thrilling weight of his chest against yours, the curl of his tongue within your open mouth. The huff of silent laughter against your lips only serves to incite you further, and you bury your fingers in soft, dark hair as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss and relishing in the sensation of being devoured. Your thighs spread further of their own accord, the ache between your legs a dull, constant throb. It's an ache that you've been nursing for days, since you lay in your bed tormented by your own desire, and you crave relief. 

Faintly you feel one of Stefano's hands drift away from its hold on your hip, followed by a flash of cold sharpness against your thigh You flinch as the foreign touch trails over the swell of your hip, your breath hitching as it slips beneath the band of your underwear. After a quick tugging sensation the fabric rips, and two things register in your mind at once: the hem of your dress bunched up around your hips, baring your naked sex to Stefano's gaze, and the prick of that cold sharpness - the bite of a _knife_ \- digging into your skin.

You whine, half in pain and half in pleasure as blood bubbles in the wake of the small wound, running hot down the curve of your thigh. You break away from Stefano's mouth, panting as lust wars with the sour tang of fear in the back of your throat. "Stefano... ?"

"Hush," he murmurs, voice whisper-soft and strange. Your chest heaves as the knife trails softly over your belly, up along the swell of your breast and into the hollow of your throat. With a swift flick and another tug he severs the straps of your dress and bra, and your fingers twitch within the strands of his hair. "Art requires a signature, does it not?" he questions, pressing the tip of the knife to your collarbone. Your mouth hangs slack as you wait for the sharp nick of the blade against your skin, your blood roaring in your ears.

You nearly scream when it comes - not because of the pain flaring sharp and vibrant along your skin, but because of the leather-clad fingers slipping between your thighs and into your aching cunt in the same moment, stuffing you full in one merciless thrust.

Every nerve is on fire - you feel the blood pooling on your collarbone, dripping down your chest. You feel it sticking to your thigh from Stefano's first cut. You _smell_ it, the tang of iron thick in the air as he continues to mark you, each nick of the blade coinciding with the curl of his fingers inside you. It's a maddening cocktail of sharp pain and deep pleasure. You're dizzy with it, writhing beneath him and grinding your sex against his palm in pursuit of release, fingers clenching around fistfuls of his hair each time soft leather drags against your clit. 

You can hear him speaking, soft words that barely filter through the haze in your brain. "Magnificent," he rasps, the knife lifting from your skin one final time. Your collarbone is a mass of heat and pain, throbbing in time with your heartbeat. His fingers, no longer wrapped around the hilt of the blade, slip through the blood painting your wounds, dragging wetness over the line of your throat and along your cheek. You can hear the faint whir of the camera, a constant hum in the back of your mind. You can only imagine what you must look like. 

You don't care. Not about the camera, or the blood staining your skin. Not even about the pain. Just the heat in your belly, the slick squelch of fingers thrusting inside your cunt, smooth, wet leather dragging incessantly over your clit. Your fingers drag through Stefano's hair, the strands mussing beneath your frantic grip, and you moan brokenly as your orgasm finally crashes over you, your bare feet slipping along the cushions in paroxysms of blissful agony.

You slump weakly against the lounge as aftershocks wrack your frame and whimper as Stefano's fingers slip free of you. 

"No time to rest," he murmurs; even without sight you can tell he's smiling, satisfaction thick in the tone of his voice. Fingers pluck at the knot of the blindfold. "You must open your eyes now. Appreciate your art." 

The cloth falls from your eyes, your vision nothing but a blur until you clear it with a few slow, exhausted blinks. Your heart, which had settled into a steady throb, stutters and then roars back to life, pounding within the cage of your chest. It isn't the sight of your body that has your pulse racing - not the blood caked to your collarbone, not your breasts spilling from the ruined remnants of your dress, not even the wanton splay of your thighs and the gleam of fluid painting your skin. 

It's _Stefano_ \- his wide, hungry smile, lips kiss-swollen and red, hair a disheveled mess of dark strands still wrapped around your fingers.

It's his _eyes_ , both of them bared to your stunned, disbelieving gaze - one dark and gleaming, the other glowing a soft, brilliant blue.

"How shall we top this?" he asks, his grin spreading at your wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare. His pupil contracts and expands, whirring as he lowers the knife to your skin.

"Any ideas?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm tempted to write a sequel because i'd love to write some reader/obscura interaction. maybe something that parallels the events of the game? let me know what you think, and thanks so much for reading!


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